


Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably

by Loopstagirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 20:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18977716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loopstagirl/pseuds/Loopstagirl
Summary: Arthur was being too polite, too honourable, and Merlin had enough. Going to Morgana for advice, however, was not his intention...





	Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights belong to their respective owners.
> 
> Well... At least I can say I scrapped this one in within the year since lasting posting. I seem to have lost my muse. I've started SO many stories over the last year and nothing has got further than three chapters in before I've scrapped the entire thing and lost all momentum. I think I'm going to start a re-watch - I'm really missing it.
> 
> I saw some fanart on Tumblr the other day (annoyingly, I can't find it again to link to it) that just kind of inspired me and this happened. Easiest something has flowed for agggggges (well, a year) so I'm hoping it means I can get back in business.
> 
> Oh, and the title is a Shakespeare quote, if anyone was wondering.

He moved closer, every nerve in his body alight, all his senses locked on the man in front of him. Arthur’s hand slipped behind him, encouraging him forward. His hand rested on the prince’s chest and Merlin leant into the kiss, a content smile on his face.

It grew deeper. Stronger. His whole body reacted and a soft noise escaped him. Arthur’s hand suddenly rested on his chest as he drew back. Merlin kept his eyes shut as he attempted to catch his breath, schooling his features into neutrality when he finally looked up. He had known this would happen.

Arthur smiled at him, a small, guilty and apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured. He didn’t mean for kissing him, Merlin knew that much. It was for letting it get that far. Merlin exhaled sharply, running his fingers through his hair and trying to forget how it felt when it had been Arthur’s hands messing it up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he muttered, turning away. “You’re going to be late for your father.”

“Merlin-,”

“I’ll fetch your sword.”

He couldn’t look around as he crossed the room, knowing Arthur would be watching him. He wanted so much more than a few interrupted kisses, but that was all he was going to get. If that was what Arthur wanted, if that was what the prince was ready for, that would be different: that would be fine. Merlin would never push him.

But it wasn’t. Arthur wanted him as much as Merlin desired the prince. They had already crossed that line; a dark night in the forest after a surprise ambush and an argument later and they were both suddenly yelling at each other. Not insults and words of hatred though; everything they had kept bottled up that fear had finally released. That wasn’t the only release that night, or the next morning.

Then Arthur had withdrawn. He had become courteous, polite, in a way that made Merlin miss him, despite still spending all of his time with the man. Arthur was being _careful_ , and Merlin hated it.

He picked up the sword, returning to Arthur and deftly buckling the belt around his master’s waist. He pretended not to notice that he wasn’t the only one the kiss had affected. Arthur’s fingers trailed across his cheek.

“Thank you,” he said. Merlin made a noise in the back of his throat. All he had wanted was for Arthur to respect him, and now the prince was acting as if he was a nobleman and not a common peasant, and Merlin longed to have goblets thrown at his head. He knew what his mother would say: he should be careful what he wished for.

“You should go.” He looked at the floor rather than Arthur. The prince’s trailing fingers exerted pressure and Merlin had no choice but to look up.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“Do you need me?”

“No.” Arthur’s gaze darted to his lips and back to his eyes. “But I want you.”

“Arthur-,”

Arthur took his wrist, placing a kiss on his palm that Merlin denied made him shiver.

“I’m not going to break.”

“I know. But you’re not my consort, Merlin. There’s no official understanding between us, and even if there was-,”

“There is,” Merlin said. He reached forward, cupping Arthur’s face. “There’s what we feel. Isn’t that understanding enough? Isn’t that more binding than any contract?”

An unreadable expression crossed Arthur’s face, full of longing. He pulled away and moved towards the door.

“You should return to Gaius.”

Then he was gone, and Merlin was left staring at the door. He groaned out loud, resisting the urge to throw something. Arthur seemed to think he needed to be courted officially, that there was a process before they could give in to what they were feeling. Considering Uther would never let Arthur express his feelings for a servant, let alone a man, Merlin knew there was no future for them while Arthur kept this distance between them.

As much as he loved the man, he hated his destiny.

He left. There were still chores to do but he wasn’t in the mood and doubted Arthur would even notice. Before he realised where he was, he was on the steps leading to the courtyard. It was a sun-trap and Merlin sat down, hugging his knees.

He thought admitting how he was feeling – and finding Arthur felt the same – would change things. Now, however, he wondered if it had just made everything awkward.

He lost track of time, not knowing how long he sat there, until a figure appeared in his peripheral vision. Gwen stood over him and when Merlin finally looked up, there was a knowing expression on her face.

“Morgana wants to talk to you,” she said. Gathering her skirts, she re-entered the castle, not waiting to see if he would follow. He had no choice: Morgana seemed to know what was going on and the last thing Merlin wanted was for her to come to Gaius’ chambers to speak of it. There were some things he wasn’t yet prepared to share with his mentor.

Gwen hadn’t gone far, waiting just inside. She touched his arm fleetingly before leading the way back to her mistress. Merlin followed in silence but smiled at her when she opened the door to Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin entered, looking about for the king’s ward. Morgana didn’t leave him waiting for long, coming to a stop in front of him with her hands on her hips.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she scolded, “look at you; moping around. I thought you were stronger than the other heads he’s turned.”

Merlin scowled, not wanting to think of how many others had fallen for Arthur. He was like a burst of light and while he could be a prat, his love for his people couldn’t be denied. It was hardly surprising half the kingdom were in love with him.

“He won’t sleep with you, will he?”

Merlin spluttered, heat flooding his cheeks. He couldn’t hold her gaze, knowing he was bright red. It sounded so shallow when she said it like that and he didn’t want to consider what it meant about him. Gwen came to his rescue.

“My Lady!”

“Oh, come, Gwen, you’ve seen the way Arthur looks at him. You also know how honourable Arthur is. He won’t sleep with anyone until he’s been married ten years.”

Her words didn’t help, only drove the helplessness of the situation home. Merlin’s gaze found the floor again.

“Merlin.” Her word was a command and he looked up. “Arthur’s too honourable for his own good.”

“It’s not like that’s just what I want from him.”

“He’s too honourable,” Morgana repeated, “so you have to break him free of that.”

“How do I do that?”

“Arthur-,” she broke off, sighing. With a sweep of her skirts, she perched on the edge of her bed and beckoned for him to come closer. He did as instructed, wondering what she was about to say.

“Arthur’s thinking with his head,” she continued, “not his heart. He knows how he feels, but he’s never been _allowed_ to feel before. Everything has its proper place, and love is a diplomatic treaty, not an emotion. He’s scared.”

“I’m not going to push him-,” Merlin began. But he hadn’t. Arthur had been the first to move in the forest, the first to draw him close and not let him go until morning. Arthur had pulled their laces free, guided him back into the grass…

“Make him stop thinking, Merlin,” Morgana said impatiently, “make him feel.”

Merlin stared at her. Understanding dawned on Gwen’s face but Merlin couldn’t work out if she looked approving or scandalised.

“I don’t-,” he began, confused.

“Men!” Morgana rolled her eyes. “Make him jealous.”

“Oh.” Merlin had no idea what to say. So he didn’t. He just stared at Morgana like she had told him to announce to Uther he had magic. “How do I do that?”

“The feast tonight. Lord Barton likes dark-haired, male servants. Make sure you serve him, and make sure Arthur sees you doing it.”

“Shouldn’t I be serving him though?”

“Leave that to me.” Morgana stood, shooing him from her rooms. Merlin didn’t stand a chance; he was in the corridor before he realised he was moving. The door shut behind him and he resisted the urge to bang his head against it. He didn’t think making Arthur react by making him jealous was the best plan: the prince would be more likely to personally kill him rather than make love to him.

But he also knew there was no denying Morgana. There had been a glint in her eye that Merlin wasn’t brave enough to cross. Glancing down at himself, he sighed.

If he was attending the feast tonight after all, he was going to have to change. And if he was supposed to spend it openly flirting with someone other than Arthur, he was going to have to dig out his best clothes and make sure they had been brushed down after the last feast.

Setting off back to Gaius’, Merlin found himself wondering if love was supposed to be this complicated.

-x-

“Just a little more then, my boy.”

“Of course.” Merlin tried to smile, tried to hide the fact his teeth were gritted as Lord Barton’s hand rested on his arse for the seventh time that evening. He poured the man more wine, knowing he already had too much, and jumped when Barton’s hand squeezed.

“You must have all the maids after you,” the lord said, his voice dropping.

“Um-,” unwillingly, Merlin looked across the table at his prince. Arthur was watching, although he was pretending to be engaged with another of his father’s guests. Merlin could read the tense set of his shoulders and knew the prince was fully aware of what was happening across from him.

“Maybe it’s not the maids.” Merlin suddenly found his courage and spoke louder than previously. Arthur’s hand tightened on his cutlery. Barton chuckled appreciatively.

“I’m not surprised. Arse like yours is just begging for attention.”

Merlin flushed. Morgana had said the man was a flirt, not that he was crude.

“Come to my chambers after-,”

Merlin didn’t know if he jumped back, or Arthur jumped up, first. His hands were shaking a little and he shot Morgana a glare. She grimaced apologetically – clearly realising her sources hadn’t quite been accurate when they described the lord as a flirt. But before he could say anything (not that he knew what to say), the pitcher was being pulled forcibly from his hand. He might have protested, if Arthur’s hand hadn’t closed around his wrist and Merlin found _himself_ being pulled forcibly from the room.

Arthur didn’t speak the entire way back to his chambers. Merlin tripped after him, uncertain whether the plan had worked or he had just made the prince angry. Arthur pushed him into his rooms and slammed the door behind them. Merlin turned.

“I-,”

Whatever he was going to say was lost. Arthur gripped his shirt, hauling him closer and kissing him deeply. Merlin clutched at him, letting Arthur’s hands slip his jacket off, slide into his hair, pull him closer. The kiss was the same as in the forest: passion rather than the more chaste and gentle kisses since they returned. It was pure Arthur: pouring every fibre of his being into expressing how he was feeling, just the same as the way he fought.

This time, Merlin was the one who pulled back.

“No,” he said, “not if you’re going to be honourable again.”

“Shut up.” Arthur growled, kissing him again. Merlin grinned, his hands finding the buckle on Arthur’s belt without him having to look. Arthur tried moving them even as Merlin wondered if he could get his boots off and he almost fell. Arthur pulled back, albeit reluctantly.

“Clothes,” he muttered, his lips swollen and his eyes dark. Merlin met his gaze, and held it steadily.

“I wanted you to react,” he said carefully, “but I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

“You are mine,” Arthur said. “I was a fool for not making you realise it.”

Merlin knew he was the most powerful warlock to live. But something in Arthur’s tone, in his words, made his knees buckle and he gripped frantically at the edge of his shirt, pulling it off and almost falling over in his haste.

It took seconds before they were both naked, eyeing each other up, daring the other to make the first move. Merlin gave in first, closing the distance between them. His mind was lost and the next thing he was aware of was suddenly toppling backwards onto the bed, Arthur following him down, his hand reaching for his nightstand. Closing his eyes, Merlin moved the oil into Arthur’s reach, his entire body throbbing with need. Arthur cursed as he fumbled with the lid, but then they both froze.

One of his legs was bent towards his chest: Arthur’s fingers were in the pot of oil. They locked gazes and Merlin was certain his swallow was audible.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, his voice hoarse. Merlin nodded mutely, not trusting his own. Arthur coated a finger, his free hand resting on Merlin’s chest, over his pounding heart. He leant forward, kissing him sweetly, distracting him.

The kisses grew desperate, Merlin’s hands scrunched in the bedclothes and whimpers spilling from his lips by the time Arthur had three fingers in him.

“Arthur-,” he whined, one hand scrabbling at the man’s shoulder. “Arthur, please.”

To his dismay, Arthur pulled out. But there was a wicked grin on his face as he pulled back.

“Roll over,” he said. Merlin scrambled to obey, one hand reaching under him. Arthur pulled it out again.

“Mine, Merlin,” he whispered, easing himself in. Merlin lurched back, taking his full length straight away. He gasped, and Arthur froze.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, “Arthur-,”

The prince’s hands captured his own, pressing them into the bed. Sweat-slicked skin pressed against sweat-slicked skin, Arthur’s body flush against his own, although Merlin knew the prince was holding himself up in some way.

“Move. Gods, _move!”_

For the first time he could remember since meeting the prince, Arthur did as he was told. He set up a pounding rhythm and Merlin needed him to keep going just a little longer and then he wouldn’t need his hand. He tensed…and Arthur felt it, slowing down until he was barely moving. Merlin whined.

Arthur freed one of his hands, his own snaking up around Merlin’s throat, tilting his head back until he could whisper in his ear.

“You’re mine, Merlin.”

“Yes.” Merlin thought he might have agreed to anything by that point. “Yours.”

It seemed to be what Arthur wanted to hear. He let go, hands taking Merlin’s hips as he set a pace that had them both stuttering out ragged gasps of air. When Arthur suddenly stilled, pulsing with a deep groan, Merlin followed him over the edge.

He groaned as Arthur slid free, but the prince only moved as far as needed to collapse, boneless, on the bed next to him. His chest was heaving and Merlin found the strength to lift his head, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Arthur?” He suddenly felt nervous. He had driven Arthur to this, played on his emotions until the prince snapped.

“Gods, I’m an idiot.” Arthur had an arm flung over his face, muffling his words. Merlin grinned though.

“I could have told you that. I’m your _servant_ , Arthur, do you really think to court me like some noblewoman?”

“I wanted to give you the chance to run,” Arthur said, still not moving his arm. “If I made you wait, made you think about what we were doing, then-,”

He trailed off, and even the small amount of his face Merlin could see was blushing.

“You’d think I wouldn’t want you?” Merlin huffed, wriggling further over until he could draw Arthur’s arm away and kiss him. “Then yes, you are an idiot.”

“I’m the prince: who doesn’t want me?”

His tone returned to the arrogant prince and Merlin smirked. “According to Morgana, everyone wants you.”

“You told Morgana?”

“You think I needed to?”

Arthur grimaced and made to cover his face again but Merlin caught his hand.

“She’ll never let me live it down.”

“So don’t,” Merlin said. He brought Arthur’s hand up, taking one of his fingers into his mouth. Arthur’s eyes widened and his breathing hitched.

“She’ll know…”

Merlin drew the finger out. “Now is not the time to be talking of Morgana.”

Arthur shook his head. Merlin grinned, shuffling over until he could straddle the prince. He had no idea if he had the stamina for this, but if there was one thing Arthur had boasted off since the day they had first met, it was his stamina. And if there was one thing that Merlin had learnt since that fateful first meeting, is that Arthur never backed down from a challenge.

He leant forward, his hands resting on either side of the prince’s head.

“I’m not some maid you have to woo, Arthur,” he said softly. “I’m already yours. So, my prince, do with me as you will.”

Arthur went very still and Merlin could see the rage of emotions in his eyes: love and lust, for sure, but also vulnerability, an openness that Merlin knew no one else would ever see. He leant forward, brushing Arthur’s lips with his own, tracing kisses across his cheek, over his noses, both eyelids…

It only took a few seconds before Arthur composed himself, threading his fingers through Merlin’s hair and drawing him closer.

No one else would see that vulnerability. Merlin knew he had been handed a powerful weapon. But he would – could – never betray his destiny. Instead, he would do everything in his power to protect Arthur, even if that was from the fears and concerns.

And if protecting Arthur from his own thoughts meant distracting him, then Merlin wasn’t complaining…


End file.
